


The Hole and Corner

by AsheTarasovich (natalieashe), Boffin1710, Dassandre



Series: The Hole and Corner [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21626611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalieashe/pseuds/AsheTarasovich, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boffin1710/pseuds/Boffin1710, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dassandre/pseuds/Dassandre
Summary: Originally established 1 October 1910 in a hidden alleyway off Whitehall not far from Admiralty House, The Hole and Corner has only ever catered to one particular group of pub dwellers:  the agents and support personnel of the Secret Intelligence Service.  Recognising that the camaraderie of pub culture was an essential element in allowing his operatives to unwind, the first M also understood that they could hardly continue to visit and drink down at their local about the pressures of their work.
Series: The Hole and Corner [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558699
Comments: 8
Kudos: 122





	The Hole and Corner

**Author's Note:**

> On 13 November 2019, The Telegraph published an article in which the head of the SIS, SIr Alex Younger (C), revealed that the operatives of MI6 have their own secret pub, accessible only to those who work at headquarters in Vauxhall, London. This series of stories is inspired by that revelation.
> 
> Whilst the series will include stories featuring James Bond, Q, Alec Trevelyan, Eve Moneypenny, Mallory, Tanner, and the usual cast of characters, expect to read the stories of original characters, too. After all, MI6 has many agents and personnel needing to unwind at their local at the end of a stressful day.
> 
> These tales will not follow an overarching plotline but tell individual stories one might hear 'down the pub.' Publication of new parts will be intermittent and dependent upon what stories these hardworking folk need to share and when.

Though the people of the British Isles have been drinking ale since the Bronze Age, it wasn’t until the arrival of the Romans in the 1st Century, and the construction of their impressive road network, that the first inns began to appear. Called _taberna_ , they were little more than single room shops where travellers could buy refreshment. A good start but far from comprehensive hospitality.

It wasn’t until the withdrawal of the Romans and their rule in the 5th Century that things really got rolling, or should we say, ‘pubbing,’ as it was then the Anglo-Saxons and native Britons started to establish true alehouses within domestic dwellings. These quickly evolved into meeting places where the folk would gather socially to enjoy gossip and entertainment, to share advice on hunting and husbandry, and to arrange for mutual help within their communities.

And so British pub culture was born. 

Though the look and feel of pubs has changed drastically over the course of the centuries, their primary purpose has not wavered, and pubs remain an essential part of a Brit’s social life. Though recent studies have determined that pubs provide a strong social connection that improves a person’s happiness and overall health, what it really boils down to is this: going down to your local to share a pint with your mates is just a bloody good time.

Every city, town, village, and hamlet in Britain has a pub. Some have more than others. London has a fair few. And most of those profess to be unique in some form or fashion. Several pubs in London claim to be the oldest in the city -- The Guinea in Mayfair, The Lamb and Flag in Covent Garden, The George in Southwark, among them -- something that’s as difficult to definitively prove as fate versus free will. Others claim to be the smallest. The Dove in Hammersmith holds the Guinness World Record for the smallest bar in Britain at 121cm by 238 cm, but The Rake in Borough Market is also quite wee at only eight and a half square metres. 

Still others claim to be the most exclusive, or the prettiest, or decorated with the most flowers, or proclaim to have the most extensive fairy lights during the holidays. With over 3500 pubs in the 32 London boroughs, it only stands to reason they’d all try to stand out from the rest. Though their patrons would argue only the ale and the company really matter.

There is only one pub in all of London that is truly unique, however. Unique in its obscurity. Exclusive in its anonymity. 

Originally established 1 October 1910 in a hidden alleyway off Whitehall not far from Admiralty House, The Hole and Corner has only ever catered to one particular group of pub dwellers: the agents and support personnel of the Secret Intelligence Service. Recognising that the camaraderie of pub culture was an essential element in allowing his operatives to unwind, the first M also understood that they could hardly continue to visit and drink down at their local about the pressures of their work. 

The Hole and Corner, more commonly referred to by its patrons as “The Pub,” moved whenever SIS Headquarters did, taking up shop space in a blind alley here or behind a hidden door over there. Keeping close to hand and doing a brisk, sometimes overwhelming business. And always as a secret more heavily guarded than those MI6 is charged with guarding for the sake of national security.

In 1994 it moved to new digs off The Albert Embankment. As private and secret as its previous locations, most people don’t even know The Pub is there. Housed on the top two floors of a Victorian-era building, its door looks as if it’s part of the moderately busy Portuguese tapas restaurant on the ground level, also conveniently owned and operated by MI6. A public guise designed to conceal a pub culture as unique as any in Britain.

It works perfectly.

The Pub has its Quiz Nights and Karaoke Nights, the same as any other public house. The Guinness, Stella, and Heinekin pour from the taps constantly and the whisky just as often. The Fish and Chips is the most popular item on the menu, though the publican -- the latest in a line of former Senior Intelligence Officers to hold the role -- recently hired a new chef whose Pie of the Day with Mash is starting to draw rave reviews. The Sunday roast dinners do not disappoint, either. 

It’s own division within MI6, the publican reports directly to M but is largely left to his or her own devices to see to the comfort and morale of the patrons. The entire staff holds DV security clearance -- they are, after all, the secret keepers to the secret keepers -- and the servers are paid a salary equivalent to that of mid-level personnel in Six’s HR Department. As such, the waiters and waitresses would tell you it’s the best hospitality job in the city, if they _could_ tell you, that is.

The Pub is comfortable and lively and safe and secure. Busiest in the hours just after the day shift ends, it is open 24/7/365 to meet the needs of a clientele with no set work hours, a clientele with no other sensible options. Though, to say truth, sensible isn’t a trait all the patrons -- particularly the Double-Os -- have in abundance whilst others have perhaps a tad too much of it.

“I know you’re exhausted, sir, but there’s one more thing--”

“No, Moneypenny. No more _things_ tonight!” Mallory tossed the file he’d been reading on top of his desk, rubbed his tired eyes, and stood from his chair. “We’re done. It’s gone one in the morning, and neither of us has been home since Mansfield’s body was returned from Scotland. We’re prepped for the meeting tomorrow with the engineers and architects on the reconstruction plans for Vauxhall, I’m halfway through the Double-O files -- Trevelyan’s alone took the better part of five hours today -- and I’ve finally met with the last of the Department Heads. We each deserve a drink as well as our own beds for at least five hours, I think.” 

“That’s perfect, then, sir. There’s actually one more Department Head you still need to meet, a rather important one, but if you come with me, I’ll ensure you get your drink at the same time.” She handed him his coat and called for a driver.

Fifteen minutes, after a short drive from Six’s temporary digs in Whitehall, they were alighting from the car outside a three-story Victorian off The Albert Embankment. “What are we doing here, Moneypenny, if not for the food?” Mallory asked as he followed her past the entrance of the 24-hour tapas restaurant to a side door with a fingerprint lock recessed in the wall behind a well-hidden hatch.

“Getting you that drink,” Eve said, flicking open the hatch and stepping away. “The Quartermaster will have already uploaded your prints into the system. He has plans to install a retinal scan in the coming weeks, so be ready for that.”

“A retinal scan? For what precisely?” He glanced around them, taking in the door’s subtle, high-tech security system and the upgraded CCTV cameras on the buildings opposite. “Explain, Ms. Moneypenny?”

Eve smiled patiently. “Normally we don’t have this problem as most who become M have done so from within the SIS, but occasionally a newcomer such as yourself needs the proper introduction. It’s something of an unwritten employee benefit for working for Six. I promise you, sir, what’s behind this door is entirely secure.”

He studied her for a moment beneath the recessed lighting in the doorway then pulled off his gloves and turned to the lock. “Index?” he asked, looking over his shoulder.

“Index and middle.”

He pressed. It scanned. And the door opened.

Gareth followed his PA up the stairs within. When they reached the well-appointed landing on the first storey, Eve gripped the pull of a heavy oak door. As she opened it she said, “The only thing to remember, sir, is that you’re safe here. We’re _all_ safe here.”

It was a pub. 

He took in his surroundings as he followed Moneypenny through the main room. The pub had low ceilings complete with polished oak beams and a creaky wooden floor well-worn from the many feet that had trod and stood upon it. On the hunter green walls hung photos of London: new and old, its history, and its people. The light that spilled through the stained glass windows from the street lamps outside set an almost otherworldly glow within. Twenty or so patrons sat about eating and drinking, and though he was new enough to still be putting names to faces, he recognised them all. They were Six. The head of HR and two of the doctors from Medical chatted on sofas in front of the fire. Double-O Nine, returned only that afternoon from Djibouti was playing chess with SIO Simmons at a table near the centre of the room. His back was to the door. Behind the large, well-polished bar, two bartenders poured ale and whisky for those sat on stools before it. 

One of them looked up as Eve and Mallory approached. 

“Ahhh! There he is! ‘Bout bloody time, too, Evie!” the woman said when she saw Mallory. She snagged a bottle of Macallan 12 from the rack behind her and poured two fingers into a glass that she sat in front of him. About Moneypenny’s age, the bartender had skin like warm mahogany and high cheekbones, the left was marred with a long scar that ran from the corner of her eye to the hinge of her jaw. Her long dark hair was caught up on top of her head in a complex twist of plaits, and her hazel eyes glowed with genuine pleasure at the sight of him.

Mallory ignored the glass and shook her extended hand. It was missing the last two fingers. “From the way you seem to know me and what I like to drink, I’m starting to wonder if I’ve stepped through The Wardrobe.”

She laughed and passed Eve a pint. “No, this isn’t Narnia. Nor Diagon Alley. But it _is_ a secret. A well-guarded one only a handful of Londoners will ever know about.”

“Who are you?”

“I am Sefa, your publican.”

“ _My_ publican?” Mallory’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

Sefa rolled her eyes and glared at Eve. “You didn’t tell him a bloody thing, did you?”

“Nooope,” Eve said, popping the ‘p’. “Thought it better to show him.” 

“You spies and your secrets.”

“Well, you would know. You were one, once.”

“That I was.” Sefa’s pride rang clear in her affirmation. She turned back to Mallory. “As I said, I am Sefa. Sefa Harverson, Publican of the most secret pub in the city. Only MI6 personnel know about it. Only MI6 personnel are allowed admittance. I’m a Department Head like any other, but my office and duties are here, and as you are the Chief of the SIS, I am, in effect, _your_ publican.”

Mallory looked around again seeing and hearing it all anew. The snippets of work-related conversations. Double-O Nine’s back to the door. “My God. You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“We can’t talk even to our closest friends about what we do for a living,” Sefa said, nudging the whisky she had poured him. He shrugged out of his coat, draping it on the stool next to him before taking up the glass, listening as she continued. “We need a culture _within_ where we can do that with each other, so we have our own pub. The most exclusive in London, it’s fair to say.”

Moneypenny clinked glasses with Mallory as Sefa said brightly, “So I welcome you to The Hole and Corner ... _M_. May you always find comfort here.” 

**Author's Note:**

> “If you have consumed what we have laboured and invested in to create, and if you have found any enjoyment in it, please tell us so that we can recharge enough to do this again.” ~ kdreeva via Tumblr


End file.
